Hush
by 1985laurie
Summary: Set at the end of Distractions...and quickly taking its own storyline. It's a little adventure mixed with a little HurtComfort. You'll enjoy it...honest! It's gonna be a good'un! The long awaited Part Seven is up now...House!hurt. Sorry for the wait!
1. Part One

**Author's Note: Well, I've written this much - I figured I may as well post it! Let me know if you think it's gonna be worth continuing - you all know I love reviews...lol x**

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House poured himself a drink; the troubles from the last case plaguing his mind. Sure, he'd managed to prove that Weber was a bad scientist…but, it hadn't brought the rapture he'd hoped it would. It was almost a disappointment to see his college foe angry at him for sending the email that shut him down; even having Cuddy there as a witness wasn't enough to please him. He still felt…miserable.

It wasn't about Stacy…that's what he kept telling himself; it has nothing to do with sending her away _at all_, despite what Wilson might think. The whole migraine inducing, LSD, antidepressants curing headache, shamble had absolutely nothing to do with _her_. Nor did the fact he'd called out to the agency for an attractive, medium length, dark haired young lady to join him in his celebration of Weber's downfall…

He downed his drink after he heard a knock at the door; he hoped the alcohol would allow him to shut off and stop his inner voices from ruining what would be $580 well spent on one night. Actually it's more likely to be one hour, his inner voice taunted mercilessly, already ignoring his futile attempts at muting it.

He paused at the door, shaking off the feeling that he'd stood up a little too quickly, by taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. As he pulled open the door, he saw the person the other side move slightly; she was probably relieved that he'd answered. He wondered how many calls the agency got that involved pranks and false addresses; he concluded it would also be just as infuriating to find you've knocked at the client's door and they'd changed their mind.

He refrained from looking her up and down judgmentally; they'd be time for that later…if he could bring himself to do it, that is. "I'm Paula" she said, friendliness coming through in her soft tone.

"Hey Paula" he replied instinctively, warily keeping his tone as light as her own; it was better for the throbbing in his temples if they both kept it that way.

"How you doing? You work over at the college? Or are you full-time over at the-"

"I'm looking for a distraction" he cut her off rudely, her tone wasn't _that_ soothing for his head; "You don't need to talk to do that, do you?" he asked, looking to her expectantly. She smiled and shook her head; stepping back slightly, he allowed her in, keeping his hand firmly on the doorknob as the sweet smell of musk passed by his nostrils. The agency had really outdone themselves; she was close enough to what he'd requested over the phone…and she'd be worth the tip. _That_, he could already tell.

Within seconds of the door slamming shut, she was on him. She crashed him into the frame with such force; it actually winded him for a second and he dropped his cane. No matter, he wouldn't need it again – not until the morning.

He quickly came to the conclusion that she was either extremely attracted to him, or she found him repulsive and wanted out of there asap...he chose not to think about either option as he braced himself with one hand on the door knob and the other on her shoulder.

Her hands were the first thing to give away her inexperience as they fumbled nervously, torn between whether they found his arse, or the back of his neck, more comforting to hold while she roughly chewed on his earlobe; the rest of her body seemingly intent on pinning him against his own front door as though they were wrestling for the most dominant position in his living room. She was winning, easily.

Grunting as she found something far more interesting to handle down the front of his pants, House realised that maybe he'd gotten her all wrong. She wasn't inexperienced; she was _playing_ inexperienced – that was her thing. He had to admit, it was much more fun thinking that she was new to the game, rather than an old hand; he cursed his bloody mind for roaming _again _and ruining his pleasure so far. He wished that, just once, he could shut off the light in his head and relax like everybody else. This was supposed to be a distraction, after all! His distraction from work, Wilson, Cuddy...Stacy.

The fact that he knew he'd either live through sending her away or he'd self-destruct and probably kill himself in the process was annoyingly brought up by Wilson in almost every conversation they'd had recently – it was sensitivity at its narrowest. Even when he wasn't here, Wilson managed to wind House up with his snippets of moral wisdom; he was supposed to be enjoying himself with Paula, not thinking about Wilson's lectures, Cuddy's worried chats, his teams dislike for his experimenting, Stacy's...Stacy. Fucking Stacy!

He vented his frustration through a series of aggressive kisses aimed at Paula's neck; he had the peculiar animalistic instinct to mark her skin, show that he had claimed her – even if it was just for one night...and he was paying. She seemed to welcome the belligerency with good nature; even going as far as to tilt her neck back invitingly and moan seductively as he nipped her skin.

The throbbing in his head was soon becoming secondary to another pressing matter as Paula teased him mercilessly by pressing her left thigh up, firmly, in between his legs. She carefully bit into his chest; even through his t shirt, the pain that emanated from the firm muscles in the area was enough to clear his mind of any thoughts that were plaguing him at that time. He leaned his head back against the door and gasped at the intensity of her bites.

With his mind blank, the next thing House knew, he was being dragged away from the door by his belt; apparently Paula was keen to find out what colour the ceiling in his bedroom was painted. He lurched after her as she made an educated guess as to the whereabouts of his bedroom; probably a skill that would only be put to better use if she'd joined the fire brigade, House thought indolently, as he watched her pull off her clothes, temptingly, from the doorway.

He waited patiently as she made a show of pulling each layer of clothing off and placing it in a neat pile by the bed; it wasn't as sensual as the first time he'd watched a lady of the night perform this particular little dance. It hadn't taken him long to observe and pick up the little tips and tricks that the ladies had learnt to survive by whilst on the game; 'always check the money, give yourself an escape route from any situation and never kiss on the mouth' seemed to be ranked highly in the 'hooker's guide to the galaxy'...

He noted the way that Paula's eyes lingered a millisecond too long over the small wad of money he had set out on his dresser – her tip; she was obviously out for the more solid rewards coming from her night of work. She hadn't quite gotten the 'judging how much is there' glance down yet, instead favouring the all out 'count every last note' stare. She'd learn, in time – they all learn.

He briefly considered tipping her half of what he'd laid out, just to teach her an important lesson in hooker etiquette; he'd already paid up with the agency, so whatever he generously tipped was going straight into Paula's pocket.

House shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, his sexually charged adrenaline was fading fast. The temporary euphoria from making out by the front door was giving way to another blinding migraine; he could feel it building up behind his red-rimmed, fatigued eyes. That, accompanied by the searing pain that was beginning to spark off in his right thigh, meant that he was quickly becoming agitated – and considerably turned off!

Paula must have sensed the change in atmosphere as she desperately tried to bundle her attention back to her client. She didn't adhere to his awkward leaning position by the door, so she pulled him smoothly over to the bed; House was happy to take her lead as the pain behind his eyes blinded him with white light. After today, he'd be happy if he never heard the word 'migraine' again...

He ungracefully fell to the bed, grunting slightly with the sudden jolts that shot through his leg; Paula straddled him as she worked on undoing his belt. House put his hands on her hips, feeling the insane need that he should be doing something – _anything_ – to contribute to this show. Stroking his thumbs lightly against her bare thighs, he mentally reminded himself that he wasn't likely to get a discount just because he 'got into the mood' and did his bit, so he let his hands fall, lazily to the bed.

He tilted his head back as he lay there; closing his eyes and breathing through his nose in an attempt at shutting out the infuriating pain in his skull. He was brought out of his meditation when Paula grasped his wrists, dominantly, and pulled him into a sitting position; she slipped his t shirt over his head, dragging her fingernails seductively over his bare flesh as she did it, adding to the shudder this brought upon his sensually charged body.

He frowned slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him at the change of position, his BP taking a nosedive; although, he couldn't be sure just how much of that could be attributed to the large bulge in his pants…! He blew out a shaky breath as he tried to stop his head from swimming.

Recovering, he glanced up to find Paula frowning worriedly at him; he grabbed her hand, which was resting on his shoulder in an attempt at keeping him stable. Pulling her slowly towards him, she once again found herself mounted over his hips – although, he still hadn't gotten around to getting his pants off…a fact that she was extremely aware of as she let him trail kisses down her neck and breasts.

Trying not to seem too pushy, or eager, she let her hand wander down the front of his pants; the belt loosening, from her earlier assault, helping considerably with her access. She slid her legs off of his body and planted them firmly on the floor; he felt the change in position and cracked an eye open.

"Lights" he grunted commandingly. She glanced over to the door and headed over to switch off the offending item, finding only when she got there, that this wasn't the switch for the lamp that was also on. Sighing quietly, he placed his hand on the dresser; why did he leave the lamp on in the first place? It was an act of pure stupidity on his part. He knew he'd want the lights off; if not to hide the scar on his leg, then to stop the pesky headache that seemed reluctant to leave his head.

As he braced himself using the dresser, he pulled his weary body up, gasping as the pain in his head magnified beyond belief; it was during this intense period, he felt all energy leave him completely. 'Orthostatic hypotension' popped into his head, although not soon enough to stop him from blacking out and apparently landing on the cold, hard, laminated floor in a heap.

"Oh shit" he heard Paula say; although, she didn't sound particularly worried; she actually sounded annoyed. She must have had a few men pass out on her before, House mused as he struggled to breathe. He coughed desperately, knowing full well that he didn't have any problems in the respiratory department. It was his heart that was really concerning him. His heart that was beating so slowly, he thought it might stop at any second. It was definitely his heart that was stopping him from even attempting to get up off his bedroom floor.

He gingerly moved his arm up and clamped his hand over his face in an attempt at shutting out the soft light from the nearby lamp, which felt like it was burning through his retinas; 'what the fuck have you done to yourself?' he thought desperately as he moaned agonisingly, and writhed with pain…

TBC…


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note: This chapter was bloody hard to write...my brain refused to work for the best part of five days because of it! My thanks goes out to all you lovely people who reviewed the first chapter - without your encouragement, I would have given up at the first hurdle...Thank you. x**

House felt a wash of uncertainty clamber into his mind as the pain from his head receded slightly; his survivalist instinct told him to stay in that pain free position forever, but it was his insistent curiosity that forced him to pry his eyes open eventually.

As he peered through the hazy fog that was clouding his vision, he became aware of movement beside him; Paula was obviously completely freaked out and was intent on leaving. 'You didn't even get to do anything kinky,' he thought bitterly, regretting putting such a large tip out on the dresser.

He made a mental note to never tip again; at least, not 'till he'd gotten his money's worth – it wasn't a lot of use to him now though. On the bright side; if he died now, he wouldn't have to pay off the zillion speeding tickets he'd somehow accumulated over the past few months. Every cloud has a silver lining...and there was one hell of a cloud cloaking him right now.

'You should have gone for a drink with Wilson,' he thought miserably; 'you'd be in the ambulance by now, having your ear chewed off and being threatened with a furious Cuddy. Instead, you're struggling to breathe and counting dust mites on your rug, with a very beautiful, and very expensive, hooker freaking out over you,' he groaned as another sharp, stabbing pain broke out in his chest.

Paula angrily pulled her clothes on, muttering curses and glancing over to her 'client' in the process. She heard him groaning softly as she tugged her top from under his right leg; she swallowed nervously as she cautiously leant over him, checking for life. He was breathing so faintly, it seemed as though he was asleep; the only thing that told her he wasn't were his eyes, flickering and his left hand, languidly trying to cover them.

Apart from that, he didn't seem to be moving very much... 'Maybe he had a heart attack...' she thought idly, pausing in her dressing. 'But then, he did smell faintly of booze too. That would explain why he passed out,' she decided as she hurriedly grabbed the notes left out for her on the dresser; it was _her_ tip, after all, and _he_ was the one who cut the night short. 'He's just drunk himself into a stupor, he'll be fine by morning' He could hardly put in a complaint against her; she'd done her job up 'till the point where he collapsed; unfortunately for House, she wasn't particularly interested in what he'd done to himself, as long as she didn't get into trouble.

After giving a quick last check of the bedroom, she made it to the front door before she was rewarded with an assault from her conscience. 'What if he's really ill? He looked a little sick before he collapsed…and he didn't really seem drunk enough to pass out. Oh God, what if he's OD'd?' she cursed loudly, remembering the short briefing she'd had before she started work.

There was a gang of thieves going round, posing as high class escorts; they'd been drugging their client's before taking off with their money. She'd been warned to be extra vigilant tonight; she should have left when she took note of his sickly complexion, especially after he seemed to fade in and out during her initial foreplay. 'Fuck, they're gonna think you drugged him...'

She hurriedly made her way back into the bedroom, approaching the man sprawled out on the floor. "Hey" she nudged his bare shoulder gently with her hand, jumping slightly as he flinched against the contact. "Hey" she repeated, pulling his hand from over his eyes. "Have you taken anything?" she asked, in the loudest voice she dared use at that time of night; as soon as he denied taking drugs, she could go and she'd know she wouldn't get an unwelcome call from the cops, who were bound to start investigating if he died. "Have you taken any drugs?"

House squinted against the soft light of the lamp; he could faintly see the outline of his female companion looking down over him. 'Thought she'd left...' he mused languidly, struggling to hear her over the wall of sound emanating from his inner voice. She was talking to him, asking him questions. Drugs? Has he taken any drugs? He hazily tried to remember what drugs he'd had pumped into his system over the past 48 hours…it would probably be quicker to list the ones he _hasn't_ had.

He nodded his head as much as he dared without crying out in pain; it was better than trying to reel off an insane sounding number of legal, and illegal, substances that he'd subjected himself to. Webber's receptor, Nitro-glycerine, Sumatriptan, Verapamil, LSD, antidepressants, Vicodin and alcohol…alcohol. 'Oh crap, no wonder your blood pressure's in the tank,' he thought indolently as he fought off another attempt from his body trying to shut down his mind. _You will not pass out. You will not pass out. You will not pass out. _

"Hospital" he gasped, fully aware that he needed to get help before he went into shock. "Princeton Plains…" he choked out, hoping Paula would use her initiative and translate his croaks into orders.

He saw the outline of Paula's head shake in disagreement; he quickly determined that she wouldn't be the one to call him an ambulance. 'Of course she's not going to call an ambulance…why should she? If you die, then that's her life over too; the cops would think she drugged you, killed you and took your money. But then, cops are stupid like that.' He desperately wanted to tell her that he'd make sure no one knew she'd been with him; his voice refused to help him out, leaving him gasping at her instead. So much for his plan of telling her that he'd be fine.

"I can't take you to a local, hun" she stated regretfully, referring to the hospital; "too many people know us around here – same thing happened to Janice the other day…" she trailed off when she realised that he wasn't particularly worried about hearing what happened to 'Janice' the other day. "There's been a lot of drugging lately; not with our establishment, mind you – but if I take you in, the cops would be on it _so fast_...you should have told me about the drugs" she stated angrily, pacing the room in her heels and making his head hurt. House couldn't believe he was getting a lecture on drugs from a hooker; so much for a distraction – she was beginning to sound more and more like Wilson as each second passed by...

He tried to face her, using his arm to turn over, in an attempt at getting her attention, but failed miserably when his elbow buckled under the weight. If he could just get her to pass him his cell, he could call Wilson and then she could leave; unfortunately, that would involve actually having to find his voice, which had taken a short vacation somewhere down the back of his throat. 'Shut up!' his mind screamed as her voice broke through his plan making; he wasn't in the mood for poor reassurances and apologies.

"I know a place, few miles north of here – they don't ask questions; they get this sort of thing all the time…sorry, but you'll have to trust me" she seemed to know that it wasn't particularly reassuring to her client, but was too lost to know what she should really say to someone writhing in agony on their bedroom floor. "I'll grab my cell and call Pete – just hang in there, okay?" she said hurriedly, before rushing off to get her cell from her car. There was no way she'd be able to get him out of the apartment alone.

House mumbled incoherently in reply, his own attempt at calling her an idiot. He needed to go to Princeton Plainsboro; he needed his staff, who knew what he'd taken. He needed Wilson to call him an idiot and get him help. He needed Cuddy to scream like a banshee and rush him through tests and treatment.

He did _not_ need some incompetent ER doc, who didn't even know him, to yell 'suicidal intentions' as soon as he got his tox screen back. Although, even if the doc did know him, he'd still have 'suicidal intentions' yelled at him, he thought dimly, all the more wary of why he needed his team…and not some bloke called Pete.

With great effort, he managed to roll himself onto his back; he winced as pain lacerated through his heart. He knew what he wanted to achieve, and that the hard part was yet to come. Grunting as he used his left leg to hook the right, he managed to stretch and balance his feet on the edge of the bed for a minute; his whole body shook as the exertion became too much.

Before he could stop the inevitable, his right leg dropped from the bed; his heel smashed against the hardwood floor, sending a shock wave up his leg and forcing a strangled cry from his lips. He arched his back, desperately trying to keep his left leg up on the bed; the last thing he needed now, was to curl up over his screaming right leg and lose what blood that had seen itself to his heart and, hopefully, his head.

As he choked back further cries, he had a stronger awareness of the deep throbbing in his temples; his plan seemed to be working for the time being. _More pain means more blood getting to your brain, which equals less chance of brain damage. Pain is good. Pain is good. Pain is - _"Fuck!" he spat through gritted teeth, bringing his hands from grappling with his pant leg and planting both of them firmly on his forehead.

There was a cruel competition conspiring between his leg and his head over which could cause him the most agony; so far, his head seemed to be in poll position, and his mind was still hammering it home, that this was a good thing.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, although he couldn't be sure with all the blurriness; he strained his ears, fighting through the sound of his own laboured breathing, to hear what was going on. He felt the vibrations in the hardwood floor from Paula's heels and determined she was in a hurry; Pete was obviously on his way, and probably pissed at being dragged out of bed to sort out a 'drugged out' client. 'Just fucking great.'

Paula grabbed the waist of his pants and pulled them roughly together, fumbling with the button-fly and his belt. A small part of House was relieved that he hadn't worn pants with a zipper; he didn't want to imagine what kind of damage a pissed off hooker could do with _that_ as a weapon. Ouch...

"Can you get up?" she snapped, holding out his t shirt, but not really seeing how she was going to get in on him; House mouthed 'no' in response, still keeping his hands pressed firmly on his temples. He reluctantly pried one hand away and struggled to make eye contact with her; she wasn't going to listen to him if she really did think he was drugged out of his head.

"Need. Princeton...Plainsboro" he gasped brokenly, his voice seemed to be dancing around in his head whilst wearing steel toe capped boots and pounding the crap out of his temples; Paula frowned, glancing at the clock and making an effort of ignoring him completely.

House continued, knowing that she was listening; "Need...call. Wilson" he watched her glance at his cell on the dresser. "Please. Just call him" he gaped as the pain in his leg began to outweigh his headache. "He's. Doctor" he groaned miserably as he heard her cell ring, stealing his limelight.

Paula strode purposefully down the hall, House heard the snap of the lock on his door, followed by the footsteps of someone else...someone big. His assumption was confirmed when a monster of a man towered over him, sneering; this was obviously Pete... 'Hello Pete – get the fuck out of my apartment' he thought angrily as the man said something, condescendingly, to Paula and received a frown in response.

House had no time to react when he was roughly dragged off of the floor by the huge guy; he flinched feebly against the coldness of Pete's hands on his bare flesh before being thrown, like a sack of potatoes, over the tall man's shoulder.

As he was carried out of his apartment, he groaned weakly; Pete's shoulder wasn't very comfortable against his stomach, and his own belt was cutting into his waist. He hoped Pete was feeling just as much discomfort from it as he was; 'he deserves to be in agony, especially because he's being an idiot' was House's only logical thought.

If he was in a more coherent physical state, he'd have told Pete to 'get your fucking hand off my ass, and get me to Princeton Plainsboro!'

Unfortunately, all he could do was grunt with each of the other man's giant steps; savouring the fact that he could feel the blood somewhat rushing to his head, before he was roughly thrown into the back of a car...

TBC...


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note: new chapter - hope you enjoy! I'm sure you'll let me know if you do (or don't)?**

As uncomfortable as the journey _to_ the car had been, it didn't get any better when he was crudely thrown onto the backseat. He grunted painfully as he landed on his bare stomach; the mishmash of various tool bags, gas cans and his own limbs, making his entry all the more agonising. Through the dark haze that danced in front of his vision, he could vaguely hear Paula's footsteps trailing up to the car; she was obviously coming along for the ride.

With strength he didn't know he still had in him, House managed to pull his legs up in time to ensure they weren't simply trapped in the car door by his new found bosom-buddy, Pete. He groaned wearily, knowing full well that he was being ignored by both Pete and Paula as they settled into the front seats. His first coherent thought was that he should keep his legs up to aid his meagre blood flow; his right leg wouldn't tolerate further movement, so this could be the last chance he'd have to actively do something to prevent himself from passing out.

Taking in the dusty back seat smell, he found his headache on the increase, especially with the additional strong smell of gas combined with strong cologne that did nothing to eliminate the overpowering stench of the driver. 'Trust Stinky-Pete to use his car as some sort of run around pimp-mobile' he thought, dimly aware of the well-worn engine firing up.

House lay immobile as the car pulled away from the kerb; he languidly listened to the tense conversation coming from the front as driver and navigator argued over his well-being...or otherwise lack of. His pounding headache was receding slightly; although, he knew that really, it wasn't a good sign.

"We can take him to Edison, right?" Paula's question brought her a look of annoyance from Pete; 'Obviously not…' House thought indolently, fighting to keep his eyes on the couple in front. In his mind, if he could keep focus on something -_anything_- he'd be able to stay conscious long enough to call Wilson from wherever these idiots were planning on dumping him. He was alarmed to feel the car speed up as it headed out of town; they didn't seem to want to dump him anywhere close… 'Oh great.'

"We'll take him out west a bit." Pete's growling voice cut through the tense atmosphere; the car swerved slightly as he attempted to retrieve a packet of smokes from deep within his pocket.

"He doesn't look too good" Paula stated, watching the patient wincing in the reflection of the mirror in her sun visor. "Can't you just drop him off somewhere a little closer?" House couldn't be sure if she was genuinely concerned, or if she had another appointment she was keen to keep back home. He didn't particularly care, as long as she was trying to have him dumped closer to home; 'closer to my team.'

Pete huffed, clearly annoyed with his navigators lack of malice. "We drop him closer; we get caught – so feel free to keep him alive 'till we get past Easton" he spat, fiddling around with a broken lighter in one hand, and steering with the other.

Paula gave him an incredulous stare as he successfully lit his cigarette; she shot House a few more worried looks in her mirror before nimbly climbing over the seat into the back to join him.

"Jesus, you're freezing" she whispered, swiftly pulling her coat off and draping it over his shoulder. He couldn't deny that the warmth felt good, and it stopped the shivering to some extent. The smell of her musk hit him hard, and he was instantly reminded of their introduction just an hour earlier; to him, it felt as though _days_ had gone by since then.

"We're getting you to a hospital; just hang in there…" she trailed off when Pete's snort of cruel amusement broke through her calm encouragement; she was seriously regretting bringing him into this mess. 'Maybe you could have sorted this out yourself…'

Cold air suddenly whooshed through the car as Pete lowered his window; the dangers of smoking in the fuel-intoxicated car apparently outweighing the risk of exposure to its occupants. The smack of coolness over House's face seemed to wake him up a little; he decided he needed to play the sympathy card again and plead with his guilty guardian, Paula.

"I need…" he choked, unable to make himself heard above the howling of the wind. He grabbed Paula's wrist with his own, shocking her with the action and the coldness of his skin against her own; it certainly did the trick at catching her attention. She leaned forward, keeping her eyes locked onto his. "I need Wilson" he mouthed, knowing he didn't have the energy to raise his voice above the deafening noise as Pete put his foot down and the car sped up. Paula frowned as he continued slowly, simply repeating what he'd requested in his bedroom in the vain hope that she'd remember. "Princeton Plainsboro…Doctor Wilson."

She glanced to the grouchy driver, seeing he was on the last drags of his fag – 'not long 'til he discards it and closes the window' she thought; seeing her only opportunity, she leant forward and hurriedly whispered in House's ear. "I'll call him – I promise" she leant back just as quickly, as Pete closed his window and restored the car back into near-silence.

"He dead yet?" Pete asked casually, glancing in his rear-view mirror; he was starting to get a little annoyed with how close his member of staff seemed to be getting to 'the burden'.

Paula scowled and turned to face him; "Not yet" she replied, trying to keep a level tone.

"Then get your skinny butt back in the front; don't want to be pulled 'cos you're messing about in the back, do I?"

Paula sighed and pulled herself through to the front, though not before giving House's shoulder a quick squeeze. 'Maybe she was worth the tip after all' he mused, gasping as his heart decided to palpitate uncontrollably within his chest in an attempt at pumping the blood through more efficiently. "Fuck" he groaned as he waited for it to pass; 'at least your heart has more fight left in it than the rest of you' he thought miserably, squinting as various illuminated signs over the highway filled the car with strong, artificial light.

To plunge House deeper into despair, Pete decided to fumble around with the radio and land on the worst R&B station in the history of music. Hearing his passenger's discomfort to his choice in music, by way of a groan, Pete turned the music up with a malevolent chuckle. His amusement from this impromptu road trip would have to come from torturing the helpless bastard who was the reason for the unscheduled journey; after all, it was _his _fault he'd been dragged out of bed, it was also _his_ fault he'd been forced to use his fuel to take the joker to hospital.

After several speaker shuddering versions of songs that sounded remarkably like recycled classic rock tracks, Pete seemed to grow tired of the mundane station and switched off abruptly, allowing a small measure of relief wash over House.

"How far is it?" Paula asked after a while, voicing the very question that House's mind had been screaming for the past twenty minutes as he struggled to grasp hold of consciousness…and his sanity.

"I'll drop him off at the next hospital if it makes you happy" Pete replied, soon pulling off the highway and heading towards lifeless streets; apparently he now felt far enough away to be safe from the suspicion of the local cops. They shot past a school, which was shortly followed by a signpost with a red 'ER' sign attached to it. Within seconds they passed a sign which read Warren Hospital: _Experienced, caring, close to home…'_Not that close to home.'

Paula twisted in her seat to take a closer look at her patient; he wasn't looking good at all. She distinctly saw the gleam of sweat covering his face and neck as they passed under the flickering street lamps; she imagined the rest of his covered body was under the same sheen. 'So much for keeping him warm with your coat' she thought regretfully. His skin was beginning to take a ghostly grey pallor and the anticipated arrival of the ER doors at 'Warren hospital' couldn't come quick enough.

They pulled up in the parking lot, out of the way of other traffic and keeping close to the bushes. This wasn't the first time Pete had 'dropped' somebody off at a hospital.

"Get in there and tell them your boyfriend collapsed" Pete ordered sharply, tugging his own door open and stepping out of the car, yet leaving the engine running.

"Hey" House gasped urgently, seeing that this would be his only chance to get some kind of message to Wilson. Paula's eyes snapped to his, as she hesitated in opening her own door. "Tell them…my name's…Barrett…Joseph Barrett" he grimaced, another palpitation followed by a brief stabbing pain in his head, cutting him short on any explanation he may have had left in him.

He hoped that Wilson would recognise the name and the urgency in which he was needed at this hospital; House was relying on Paula to get him help, and fast. As soon as they tested him for drugs, all kinds of 'Psychiatric suicide bells' would be ringing; House would be lucky if he got out of this in one piece; avoiding being committed or arrested would be an added bonus. All the more reason he wanted to be Joseph Barrett, right now, and not Gregory House!

Paula jumped as Pete swung her door open. "Anytime today will be fine" he snarled agitatedly under his breath; "preferably _before_ someone catches our plates" he added.

Paula hurried out of the car and made a convincing job of jogging worriedly towards the ER entrance; her mind repeating over and over, with every step – _Doctor Wilson, Princeton Plainsboro, Joseph Barrett. Doctor Wilson, Princeton Plainsboro, Joseph Barrett. _

She let her eyes well up slightly, which wasn't too difficult; the only thing she really wanted to do now was loath in some serious self pity – especially after her particularly shitty night. 'Keep it together; gotta do this for him first – can't let fucking Pete ruin someone else's life' she thought determinedly, knowing how bad this would look for the poor doctor who'd made the mistake of calling the agency shortly before collapsing in agony.

She didn't know a lot about the establishment in which he worked; but she was sure the use of hookers would be frowned upon, which just left the poor guy to try and explain how he'd ended up in a hospital 60 miles away after a quiet night in by himself…'he'd be sanctioned under the mental health act for sure' she decided as she burst through the doors to the ER.

"Please help me!" she yelled breathlessly to a young, petite nurse standing by a coffee machine; "It's my boyfriend – he just collapsed! He's in my car…" she gave a good, solid performance, surprising even herself. 'Maybe you're more worried than you think…'

The nurse gave her one look, abandoned her coffee and grabbed a nearby wheelchair. As they swiftly made their way over the parking lot, Paula could see Pete with his hands under her patient's arms, waiting for his cue to pull him out of the car. 'Wait for it' she thought desperately, not finding it easy to run particularly fast in her boots.

"Right," the nurse stated as they closed the gap between themselves and the car; "what's his name?"

"Joseph," Paula replied eagerly, pleased that they were still out of earshot from Pete, who wouldn't take kindly to information that may link them to back home; "Joseph Barrett."

They approached the car; with one swift movement, Pete dragged House's motionless body from the vehicle and onto the cold, hard car park, placing the upper half of his body in the nurse's arms as she dropped down to examine him. He then returned to the car and motioned, silently, for Paula to follow; he'd effectively trapped the unsuspecting nurse under her patient, but Paula could hardly argue that he hadn't gotten the guy some help.

"Joseph" the nurse called in a breathless, yet urgent, tone. "Can you hear me?" House didn't respond right away, his head was swimming from the cold that came from losing Paula's coat and finding himself on cold tarmac, semi-naked and soaked in sweat.

When he finally replied with a small grunt, the nurse's attention was stolen away by the sound of Paula jumping into the car and the slight screech of tyres as the car sped away. The nurse looked astonished for a moment before catching sight of an EMT wandering across the lot.

"I need some help over here – now!" she called, just as the patient slumped forwards in her arms…

TBC…


	4. Part Four

House groaned as his clouded vision cleared to reveal a starry sky above him. Either this hospital had an observatory platform in every room, or he was still in the parking lot. _I'm guessing you're still outside…_He could feel a persistent pressure on his wrist, so he turned his head to find the source – it was a nurse, taking his pulse…a young, petite and very agitated looking nurse.

"Give me that flashlight" she instructed, looking away from the patient. House slowly followed her gaze and focussed on another nurse. This one was holding his legs up in the air, looking just as aggravated as the first one. _Something tells me they're not too happy with you_ he thought, letting his eyes close. Somewhere, deep down, he was aware of the dire need to be treated for shock; but he was far too out of it and tired to really care.

"Pupils are constricted." He barely reacted as the first nurse shone the light in his eyes. "Puncture marks" his ears pricked up at that. _I'm not a drug addict…well, not as such… _Apparently, nurses can't read minds, but their eyesight is as sharp as anyone's. This particular nurse had zoned in on the marks on his arm and jumped to some pretty swift conclusions. _Damn Foreman, can't give an injection without bruising my entire upper arm. _It didn't occur to House's lethargic mind, that maybe the nurse had caught sight of his self-inflicted marks on the crook of his elbow. Well, why should he believe this was his fault? He'd only taken advice from Wilson, after all!

_I... hear bowling is more fun than stalking. _Maybe bowling would have been the safer option tonight. _Blow a ton of money on a plasma TV _would probably have been even safer than bowling…_Get a hooker. Anything. _Clearly this was all Wilson's fault. House bore no real responsibility; Wilson had suggested the hooker in the first place. _Thanks Wilson. _

In the distance, he could hear a gurney being wheeled over to them, mainly due to the fact that it seemed to have one extremely squeaky wheel that screamed tediously and rung in his ears. Finally, they were going to relieve him from this uncomfortable parking lot. His shoulders were killing him; the skin on his bare back was red raw from being laid out on the cold, hard tarmac, and he was cold...almost numb.

Through the dull pain emanating from his head, he felt warm hands grasping below his neck and below shoulder blades. In their infinite wisdom, the nurses had finally decided that the patient might not be too comfy in this position. _Good thinking…I was beginning to think I'd die in a parking lot. _

"Right, get him on the gurney" the nurse ordered sharply.

Something in her tone told him they weren't exactly bringing out the big guns for him. With an old gurney, three nurses and no urgency, they'd probably already come to their own conclusions as to why he was there – drugged up to his eyeballs, no doubt. Their suspicions would only be further cemented in stone once his tox screen came back.

He seriously doubted his night could get any worse…

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wilson awoke with a start. Something was vibrating excitedly from beneath his pillow…_It's your pager, you idiot _his sleepy brain taunted, sounding a lot like House.He fumbled to grab the buzzing item before it woke Julie; he wasn't ready for another lecture on 'are you married to the hospital, or me?' A part of him knew she had every right to get angry.

He slid carefully from the bed, being sure not to disturb his sleeping wife in the process. It wasn't too much of a difficult task, especially now she'd taken to sleeping with her back to him. _The first signs of a dying marriage _he noted, recalling the way his last marriage had ended. It probably hadn't helped that he was seeing that nurse on the side.

In fact, he might be correctly inclined to think that it just happened to be a major contributing factor to the breakdown of his last marriage. _No…It was over way before you started that…affair _his conscience insisted, as it so often did_. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, buddy _came a snorted reply. _Shut up House. _Wilson was beginning to hear House's 'voice of dispirit' more often. It was as though he was the voice of the little devil on his shoulder; a little devil who came complete with cane, drugs and snark. _What does that mean? Is House my own personal Demon? _It was a valid thought, and he didn't dare ponder over it for long.

After grabbing some clothes, he quietly made his way downstairs. It was all automatic for him. He hadn't even read the page yet; he just _knew_ that any message at 1am was bound to be the hospital. It was all a well-worn routine, acquired from years of doctoring.

He sighed, reading the message in the moonlit hallway. _Patient Joseph Barrett at Warren hospital_ That wasn't good. "What have you done?" he hissed, pulling out his cell phone and dialling House's cell phone number. It rang off after a ridiculously generous number of rings. Wilson tried the land line; House seemed to have found a way to set his phone to ring just three times before the answering machine kicked in. No answer there either.

"What have you done…?" Wilson mused once more, growing a little more anxious. He grabbed his car keys and set off to investigate. On one hand, he was worried that House was in serious trouble; on the other, he was wary that this was probably nothing more than a flash of House boredom, at his expense.

Luckily, the traffic was at its lightest and he managed the journey to House's apartment was over in less than ten minutes. _You'll find him, watching TV, bored out of his head. Then you'll see that this is some kind of elaborate joke. He's okay…but he knows not to use that ID lightly. He's not okay…he's definitely not okay. _

By the time Wilson had fumbled with the lock of House's door, he was panicked and his stomach was wrought with anticipation. He stumbled into the apartment, checking everything. _Lights are on. TV's off. Empty glass on the coffee table. Cane…? _

He picked up House's cane and stared at it for a moment. _It's nothing, he's probably got a spare – this probably is the spare! _"House?" he called, immediately regretting it when he remembered what time of night it was – "Yeah, I'm sure House has a commendable relationship with all his neighbours, one that he wants to uphold and cherish forever" he reminded himself sarcastically as he made his way towards the bedroom.

More lights were on, but there was most certainly _nobody home_. "Oh great," Wilson groaned. "A trip to Warren hospital it is, then…" Just one small flaw; "Where is it?"

As he charged back to his car, he immersed himself in the twilight zone that was 'the PPTH out of hour's automated answering service' on his cell. Eventually, threatening to 'blow the hospital up' managed to get him put through to security, who in turn passed him onto the out of hour's service desk.

The woman on the other end of the line was about as helpful as a chocolate hairdryer. She gave him vague directions to Warren hospital and reminded him, several times, that she 'couldn't disclose any specific information about the patient without confirmation of his doctor's identity from his medical records.'

After some gentle persuasion, containing one particular sentence that involved her losing her job first thing in the morning, he was finally given an explanation that detailed the source of the call, which only served to confuse him further.

The caller claimed to be a girlfriend of the patient, and she'd called from a service station. Better yet, she didn't even know what was wrong with the patient. He thanked the advisor for all her help, biting his tongue against the unpleasantness that threatened to spill out if she said 'you're welcome' in that patronisingly sweet tone, once more.

_Hold on House, I'm coming… _

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

House was holding on. Or at least, he was frantically clinging on for dear life. Although, this time, he wasn't trying to grab hold of consciousness. He was attempting to stay comatose, and for good reason.

The nurses had taken him from parking lot, to gurney, to ER. He recognised none of these places from the sounds emanating from the room he was currently trapped in. It was too quiet, save for the groans coming from his own mouth.

He'd tried to warn them, he'd even managed to stay conscious long enough in the ER to refuse all treatment. It hadn't worked.

Without giving himself away as a doctor, he was unable to convince the staff at this desolate place to give him anything that simply treated his low BP. For some reason, they were more interested in the fact that his breathing was severely compromised and his pupils were the size of pinpricks. Nothing he could say was going to stop them from ignoring those particular symptoms.

They'd given him Narcan. _Narcan! _He didn't want Narcan - no chronic pain sufferer wants Narcan! Sure, it was great for overdoses. It also proved to great for his low blood pressure. _Yeah, pain will do that to you - shoots your heart rate through the roof, unless it's too low to begin with! _He struggled to block out the pain from his leg. There was nothing else, just pain. Pain…_fucking intolerable, agonisingly intense pain!_

He'd already tried to rip out the IV, using his last measly ounce of strength. This had earned him a nice set of leather cuffs and a place in the desolate back room, away from the more 'acceptable' patients of the hospital. Was keeping his medical licence safe really worth all this?

_Too late to tell them you're not actually Joseph Barrett now, they've got your fake medical records and everything up on their computer _his mind taunted him mercilessly. Despite its obviously pornographic advantages, the internet could be a tiresome resource sometimes. _If you'd been admitted under legal circumstances, you wouldn't need to use a fake name _his inner voice reasoned. "Shut up Wilson!" House growled through gritted teeth, earning him a perplexed look from his 'suicide watch' nurse.

His voice of reason would have to be Wilson, wouldn't it? _I wonder what that means? _he thought, gasping as another painful wave cascaded over him. _Is Wilson your guardian angel? That's a little gay…yet strangely comforting. _A bout of nausea washed over him; a touch of projectile vomiting over the nurse who continued to hover over him, sadistically letting him suffer through this, seemed like a good idea. He swallowed painfully, deciding that if he wanted to survive the night in this hellhole, he'd better conserve his fluids.

Doubt niggled in his mind; What if Paula hadn't called Wilson yet? What if he was riding this out for nothing? What happens when they get the results of your tox screen? He couldn't call Wilson himself; he couldn't talk without crying out in pain. He had no way of getting home without either calling the cops or…House struggled to think of anyone who could get him out of this mess. He slammed his head back onto the firm pillow, mentally cursing himself for the thousandth time that night. _Wilson will be here soon… _

He tugged mindlessly at the restraints. Even his red raw, bleeding wrists bought no release from the excruciating throbbing in his leg. _Withdrawal's a bitch_ he thought, letting out a racked snort of humourless laughter as his body shook and trembled uncontrollably. What he wouldn't have given for a Vicodin at that moment in time, or maybe two…or ten. _Fuck it - twenty will do!_

The worst thing about the whole miserable, pathetically laughable situation…he'd only been on the Narcan for three minutes and thirty-two seconds…thirty-three…thirty-four…

TBC…


	5. Part Five

House groaned, swallowing thickly against another wave of nausea threatened to drown him. He couldn't recall how long it had been since they'd pushed the Narcan through him, he'd lost count after twenty minutes and eighteen seconds. His body was eradicating all other thoughts with its insistent attention seeking behaviour, most notably, pain in his leg and head.

His suicide nurse was getting bored. She'd read through three magazines already, and was now engrossed in a book. She'd long since stopped worrying about the moans and groans coming from her patient. Sighing, she glanced up to do another visual check, raising her eyebrows at House's intense glare. "Not my fault you OD'd" she said tauntingly, smirking as he squeezed his eyes shut and choked back another moan.

The true meaning of 'uncomfortable' was becoming agonisingly clear to him laying in that bed. The sweat covered sheets were making him cold. The hard mattress had ensured his butt was numb, his neck was killing him, and his shoulder's were letting him know of their earlier ill-treatment. The fact that his arms were stuck out at such awkward angles, in the restraints, ensured that his hands had lost all colour and feeling too.

On a positive note, the thumping in House's head was steadily decreasing; he could feel his heart returning to normal through the deafening sound ringing in his ears. He stared out of the window, out into the small courtyard reserved for the hospital staff who regularly nipped out for a smoke. It was deserted, of course, as it was too early in the morning for some, and too late at night for others. _Where the hell is Wilson?_

His head snapped round when he heard a click as the door to his room closed softly. An elderly doctor, who looked like he should have retired decades ago, stared down on his patient with unmasked bemusement playing over his wrinkled features.

"You should be sleeping" he muttered lightly, crossing the room to get a better look at the silent heart monitor. Apparently, the nurse couldn't read with it beeping so much, and she'd switched it off in disgust upon entering the room. _I think we've established that the entire staff on the night shift are sadistically challenged morons… _

House glared icily at his doctor, ignoring the droplets of sweat making their way down his temple. "It's hard to sleep when some _idiot_ doctor has given…" he gasped, remembering only at the last moment that he really didn't want them to know about him being a doctor, "has drugged me." He covered well; the old doc seemed to buy it.

"You've got an appointment at eight. I'd hate for you to be too tired…" the doctor chose to ignore House's comment about the drugging, instead opting to talk at him as though he were simple. "Once you've been given psych clearance, you can leave."

_Psych clearance, oh great. _"Don't need to see a shrink – it was an accident." Playing the dumb patient route seemed to be the safe bet right now. "So get me my discharge papers, and I'll go." The statement would have been commendable, had House not been shaking uncontrollably throughout it.

The doctor cocked his head, regarding the other man thoughtfully. "An accident?" he asked, unable to hide a smirk.

"Yeah…as apposed to 'I did it on purpose'." House spoke slowly, in the most annoying tone he could muster. This doctor was seriously creeping him out, and he almost felt like he was being cruelly toyed with in some way. Through the haze of withdrawal, it was hard to tell.

"And, you'd like to leave?" the doctor was fishing something from his white- than-white coat pocket, which piqued House's interest just so.

_God, you're good. _"Yes" he replied through gritted teeth.

"Do you realise how many overdoses we get here, Mr Barrett?" the doctor asked, keeping the light, dangerously playful tone in his voice.

House swallowed back a smart retort, settling for a quiet "no…" Something told him he wouldn't get a prize for knowing the exact number.

"I'll give you a clue…it's less than twelve in a year" the doc fiddled with a syringe in his fingers, tauntingly showing enough of it to put House on edge. "Do you know _why_ we get less than twelve overdose cases here per year?"

House had a feeling he was about to find out. "Why?" he choked, unable to stop his breath from coming in short, sharp gasps. _Don't panic – he's just messing with your head! _

The doctor leaned into House face and snarled, "Because this is a nice, _clean_ town. We spent a long, _long_ time getting rid of people like _you_ and we don't intend to encourage your return in a hurry!" he spat angrily, sneering as House turned his face away. "Consider this an 'enjoy your trip' present – I don't ever want to see your face here again."

With that, he plunged the contents of his syringe into House IV port, throwing the empty vial onto the bed. "You'll be pleased to hear," he started, returning to his smug, light tone, "you can't OD on this stuff." He chuckled; savouring the gleam of hatred in House's eyes as he succumbed to the next dose of Narcan.

_He can't do this! It's…its – its immoral! _House's inner Wilson was livid. House's own inner voice was slightly in awe. He'd finally met someone who was as much of a bastard as himself…

* * *

Wilson cursed, loudly. This was the third set of lights that had turned on him. He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He used the time to scan the road signs; he'd been lost too many times to simply ignore them now.

"Warren hospital…" he muttered as he drove up to the unfamiliar hospital. He'd gone over every possibility of how House had ended up so far away from home, coming up with nothing he wanted to dwell on for too long. He hadn't ridden; his bike had been at his apartment. _He wouldn't have used public transport; too much for the leg… _

Wilson pulled up in the large parking lot, easily finding a space. _You're the only person stupid enough to be out at this time of night…err, early morning. _He jogged up to the main entrance, vainly convincing himself that House would appreciate him getting there _that_ much quicker.

Leaning over the small desk at reception, he glanced down the deserted corridors. He almost expected to see a lone tumbleweed drift past at any moment, it was that quiet. He blamed the deep silence for the fact that he jumped like a startled idiot when someone cleared their throat behind him.

"Can I help you?" he turned to find a stern, sour faced nurse raising her eyebrows at him.

It took him a second to find his voice, after driving in silence for so long. "Uhh, yeah – I'm here for Mr, err, Barrett…I'm his doctor." _Damn, you sound more like a bumbling idiot! _

The nurse's eyes widened noticeably at the statement. "I'm afraid he's asleep right now…if you care to wait a moment, I'll see if I can find his attending doctor for you."

Wilson nodded, politely. He didn't believe for one second that House would actually be sleeping. Not unless he was unconscious, and the nurse had specifically said 'sleeping'. _Something's going on…_

The nurse disappeared down one of the empty corridors, leaving Wilson alone. He began his search for clues by leaning back over the small receptionist's station, grabbing Mr Barrett's file and walking briskly away. _You can always lie and say someone offered to take you to see him. _

Now all he needed was a plan of the hospital. Using his initiative, which had just about woken up from the journey, he followed signs through to a stairwell, glancing over some test results as he walked briskly up a flight to the next floor.

He regretted not bringing his doctor's coat. It would have been much easier to blend in if he looked more like a doctor, and less like someone who'd dressed in the dark, which he had.

It didn't seem to be a problem though, as the floor where House's room was located seemed just as deserted as the other floors. _Room 402…_ He heard a loud curse, followed by a crash coming from down the hall. _House!_

He sped up, breaking into a brisk half-jog. As he approached the end of the corridor, a young nurse came stumbling out of room 402, scowling and holding her uniform as far away from her body as she could. She didn't even look up as she passed Wilson in her hurry to get cleaned up.

He glanced around guiltily before quietly sneaking into the room. He blew out a shaky breath when he saw the back of his friend, sweating, shaking and generally looking like crap. He imagined the scene from the front was pretty similar. _He's not injured…why the hell is he restrained? _

House was twisted uncomfortably onto his left hand side, the restraints denying him the ability to stay there unaided. His hand was grasping the handrail, taking his entire upper body weight while he retched over the edge of the bed. He had his back to the door and was still unaware of his visitor, even when the door clicked behind him.

"House," Wilson crossed to the other side of the bed, wincing as he saw the miserable pile of vomit pooled on the floor. "You okay?" he mentally slapped himself for asking the question.

"No…" House squinted up at him, his eyes red rimmed. "You…took your…time" he gasped, his voice lacking in everything but pitch.

"We've gotta get you out of here…" House looked surprised at that admission. He'd expected Wilson to act all self-righteous and make him stay. Plus, he hadn't gotten a 'what the hell have you done?' question, yet. _He doesn't know you OD'd…don't tell him 'till you're in the car! Ah, one problem at a time…_

"I've got no cane…or clothes…or pills."

Wilson frowned. "So, you got here…how? Aside from being naked and pill-free."

"It doesn't matter," he replied weakly, ignoring the interrogation, "get a wheelchair…and get me the hell outta here…before she gets back." _Please, just trust me for once!_

Wilson stood firm, "You didn't come by ambulance, unless you were already here – and since you don't do anything but watch TV on a Wednesday night-"

"Jesus, Wilson!" House hissed miserably, recovering slightly from the previous bout of retching, "if I wanted to be rescued by Columbo, there's a good chance I would have called him first!" he gulped in some deep breaths, struggling to keep his red rimmed, watering eyes open, being unable to wipe them himself. "Just get the wheelchair…please."

"This conversation isn't over" Wilson warned, pointing a threatening finger at his flushed friend before he retreated from the room. _Whatever he's being treated for obviously isn't life threatening…maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once. Just get him to Princeton in one piece. _

House groaned, slamming his head back down on the pillow as though it might help fight off the nausea. It didn't. _Wilson could have taken the restraints off! _

Wilson retuned, looking shifty and guilty. He'd taken the wheelchair from some poor man in the room next door. _House better appreciate all this… _

"Maybe I _should_ have called Columbo," House ranted groggily, the pain in his leg threatened him into delirium, "he'd have gotten this rescue over and done with by now…" _Keep talking, don't be sick. Keep talking, don't be sick. _

"Are you saying they're keeping you here against your will?" Wilson asked, gently freeing House's bruised wrists. _Why? What did you do? _

House gave him the equivalent of a disbelieving shake of the head, but minimising the shaking part so as not to disturb the angry migraine behind his eyes. "Gee, were the restraints too subtle?" he asked, "Should I have requested a set of _irons_ instead?" _Come on Wilson, take me home – please! Get me out of this place! _

"Calm down!" Wilson whispered urgently, catching the questioning frown from his 'damsel in distress', "Your heart rate is in overdrive."

"Is that a medical term I missed out on in college?" _Or are you more fucked up than you initially thought? Wilson's talking in gibberish…or you're not hearing him right… _

Wilson blushed, kicking out the footrests on the chair. "Sorry, I've got a patient who's obsessed with space. He's eight, and talking in code is the only way he'll listen."

"And you mistook him for me. Nice!" House replied, slightly relieved, wiping his damp forehead with the back of his hand.

"Seriously, your heart rate is abnormally high" Wilson said anxiously, keeping a close eye on the monitor. _What aren't you telling me?_ House rewarded his curiosity by pulling the pads from his chest. The sooner he told Wilson about the Narcan, the sooner he'd need to purchase some heavy duty ear plugs.

"Now it's not," he said, sitting up and grasping the sides of the bed unsteadily. "Personally, I think we should get the hell out of here before my attending comes back to check on his flat lining patient." he added with ensued urgency. A whole choir of voices were singing out in his head now – _Time to go! Time to go! Time to go! _

"Can you get in the chair?" Wilson asked, quickly helping his friend remove the IV lines from his arm, though not before noticing the lack of pain meds. _No wonder you're so touchy…well, more than usual…_ He received an unhelpful, low growl in response to his question. _You'll have to be more specific than that, House! _he thought as he desperately pulled the chair closer to the bed. "Ready?"

House rubbed his wrists tenderly, swaying slightly as he slid his legs off the side of the bed. His leg was crying out for attention, sending agonising jolts of pain ripping through his body. Wilson made no attempt at hiding his concern as the Diagnostician brought his hands up to his face and curled over, gasping and breathing shakily.

"House?" he moved across to put a hand on the other man's shaking shoulder.

"My head," came the muffled reply from behind the hands, "is killing me." _That's not the only thing that's killing you. _

Wilson froze as he heard a door slam shut nearby. "C'mon, time to go." _This is a bad idea. He looks like he's gonna pass out any minute now. _

House placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder, for support, and managed to hop, skip and drop into the chair with a grunt. The thought of what these lunatics would do if they found him mid-escape was enough to ensure he hurried as much as physically possible. He only hoped Wilson would feel the same way without having it spelled out for him.

"Push. Quickly." he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to push away the build up of nausea. _How long since they gave you the last push of Narcan? Shit…you can't remember can you? Not long enough…Wilson's gonna kill you if you throw up in his car. _

Luckily, Wilson didn't particularly want to get caught smuggling patients from hospitals, mainly due to the legal complications that may arise if House had managed to do something stupid beforehand, resulting in police involvement.

He pushed them speedily towards the elevator doors, giving himself a figurative pat on the back for not divulging his name with the nurse from the hall. The reasoning behind House's use of 'Joseph Barrett' would have to be discovered in the car. Right now, there were several sets of footsteps echoing in the hallway, heading for their direction that concerned him more…

TBC…


	6. Part Six

**Author's Note: Sorry for the wait, I've been ill - but I'm good now! On with the show...enjoy!**

Wilson held his breath as they approached the nurse's station. They'd made it this far without coming across any angry doctors or nurses…or security guards, and as he glanced round the corner to the lobby, he could see why.

"Damn!" he hissed, pulling back to hide from the collection of people currently congregating by the front desk. Not only was, what appeared to be, the entire nursing staff of the hospital waiting around by the front door, they were also joined by four hefty looking security guards. "What the hell did you do?" he asked the man currently doubled over in the wheelchair.

House pried his hand away from his face to look up and attempt a look of pure indignation at Wilson's assumption that he'd done something. "What?" he croaked questioningly, settling for a weak frown. Indignation was too hard to pull off without some serious effort.

"They've virtually barricaded the door," Wilson replied, whispering tensely whilst dragging his patient through to another corridor, "and they look like they're waiting for something…" he stopped, sharply, as a thought occurred to him. "You never told me why they're keeping you here." _Please don't tell me you've been arrested…it would explain the restraints…but not the lack of an officer waiting with him…maybe that's what they were waiting for. Oh crap. _

"I know." House said, his reply muffled as he groaned miserably. _Now is not the time for interrogation, Columbo – keep moving! _

"Do I need to be worried about the fact that they've got this place 'Fort Knoxed'?" the Oncologist asked, resuming his blind journey down the dimly lit hallways. He'd long since lost all sense of direction, and he only hoped he'd be able find his car once they were outside – _if_ they ever made it outside. The maze of the hospital had yet to lead him to a possible escape route, save for alarmed fire escapes. _I'm sure it was this direction… _

"They're probably more concerned with the fact that you've stolen a wheelchair, than a patient." House admitted quietly, sucking in a breath as pain lacerated through his temple. The miserable migraine was putting on quite a show, tap shoes and all. "I'll be happy to restore your confidence in me, by explaining how I got here, provided we make it out sometime tonight." he added despondently, knowing that it wasn't really Wilson's fault that they were trapped in an overrated version of 'The Running Man'. "Seriously, are we leaving today, or should I start picking out what I'll be having for breakfast?"

"Do you think I'm pushing you around here for _fun_?" Wilson snapped back. The agitation from being pried from his bed at such an early hour, only to be griped at for his efforts, was enough to aggravate his frayed nerves. "Just…save your moaning for in the car, please!"

House begrudgingly stayed silent as he was pushed through, yet another, empty corridor. "Does this place actually have _any_ patients?" the younger man asked eventually, peering around a corner to find a large window at the end.

House snorted in reply. If they treated half their patients as they'd treated him, then he wasn't particularly surprised that they didn't seem to be packing much in the way of patrons. He watched Wilson jog towards the window and peer out, clapping his hand against his leg in an apparent gesture of accomplishment.

"There's my car!" Wilson said triumphantly, wincing as his voice echoed off the walls. He quietly opened the door to a vacant room nearby, and pushed House through. After sizing up his friend's condition, the concerned frown crept back onto his face; he turned so House wouldn't see it, focussing on his escape route. "How's your head?" he asked casually, on the off chance of an honest answer.

"Throbbing." House grunted in reply, lifting the said appendage to curiously watch the Oncologist pry open a window. "That's your big plan?" he asked disbelievingly, "We're gonna jump…out of a window?"

"We're on the ground floor." Wilson replied matter-of-factly, motioning for the Diagnostician to step out of the chair. He purposefully made eye contact, waiting for any indication that House wanted help, knowing for sure that House wouldn't willingly ask for it. House seemed to acknowledge this as he stared back, measuring up his friend's indifference for what it was. Just plain, old Concern.

"Well…aren't you gonna help me?" he asked, using the most obnoxious tone he could muster. He couldn't help but notice the look of relief that flashed over the other man's face at his request. "You're pathetic" he groaned, mostly to himself, whilst gently removing his right leg from the footrest of the chair. Wilson silently pulled House up and guided him to the window ledge, which would be their means of escape, provided House could climb through. Right now, it was looking unlikely.

The pain that scored through his damaged thigh threatened to push him to the verge of screaming. He settled for cursing profusely, aiming most of his torrent at Wilson, who seemed content at taking it. "Why…did I even…call you?" he gasped, tears streaming down his face from his stinging eyes.

"Because no one else would take this kind of abuse from you" Wilson explained dryly, grunting as he carefully dropped the chair out of the window. Something told him, he'd need it when they got out onto the parking lot. _He can't even stand! _he thought worriedly, frowning at the sight of his trembling patient hanging onto the window ledge. _How is he supposed to climb out of a window? This is the stupidest plan you've ever had…_

House had felt pathetic before, now he felt downright wretched. Standing seemed to intensify the throbbing in his head to the point of complete blindness. Eventually colours and shapes began to swim back and he swallowed thickly, embracing the relief that came back with his vision. _Yeah, you're not worried about this at all, are you?_ he thought, realising that Wilson had stopped and was waiting on him to give the go ahead.

"Well, I c-can't stand here all day." he said shakily, silently begging Wilson to stop staring at him, like he'd grown an extra head, and just get on with the break out.

He couldn't be sure if his uncontrollable trembling was down to: the fact that he was standing by an open window and the cool morning air seemed unnaturally brisk and bracing on his hospital-gown covered body; the pure physical exertion that simply _standing_ seemed to have on his aching limbs; the sweat that seemed to be running freely down his back, face and ribs; the Narcan the doctor had been so generous with; or, the fear from maybe collapsing and waking up in another one of this particular hospital's rooms. All good enough reasons to get the shakes in House's opinion. _None of them explain why your vision is so skewed… _

"Right…" Wilson looked from House, to the window, and back again. The window ledge wasn't particularly high, maybe 4ft from the ground. _4ft might as well be 12ft with his leg… _"Can you get up there?" he asked tentatively.

"I'm not a midget, Wilson." House replied shakily, rolling his eyes despite himself and regretting it instantly as the lightning bolt shot behind his eyes, striking each temple with an agonising intensity. _Fuck_

"I could go out and…_assist_ you on the other side?" Wilson chose his words carefully, only to be rewarded with a snort as House decided that he didn't need help, despite his current physical condition.

The oncologist reluctantly stepped back, but stayed ready to leap forward if needs be. The way House was clinging onto the ledge for dear life wasn't reassuring as to his ability to actually be able to get out by himself. In Wilson's mind, it was like watching a car crash about to happen; he only wished that House would let him drive for a change...

The ailing Diagnostician used his elbows to prop himself up, gathering his strength to unattractively wriggle his way onto the ledge. His stomach muscles were tensed with the hard sill pressing into them; no doubt they wouldn't thank him for the exertion in a hurry.

The sweat-soaked gown was doing nothing for his freezing body, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering as the cold ledge chilled him to the bone. He swallowed thickly against the bile that threatened to make an appearance in the back of his throat; he could almost feel it burning in his chest, just itching to be brought up.

As he dragged his bare legs up onto the ledge, he heard Wilson 'umm' behind him, obviously having the same though cross his mind…_How the hell am I going to get out the other side? You should have let Wilson go first, you idiot! _

In the end, the urge to get home far surpassed his concerns over his health as he mustered up enough strength, and courage, to pull himself completely through the opening. _The worst that can happen, _he thought, as he heard Wilson gasp behind him, _is that you land on your head, which could actually be the key to getting rid of this excruciating headache… _

Wilson could only watch in horror, frozen to the spot, as his friend dropped, head-first, through the window; he winced as he heard the sickening thud of his body meeting the tarmac outside…

TBC…


	7. Part Seven

House took a moment to gasp in shock as the full force of his nose-dive tore through his body. _Oh God..._he thought as he tried to straighten out his right arm. Something told him that this would be the first of many new injuries.

He heard Wilson jump down from the window above, no doubt reeling with all sorts of scoldings. He'd have to wait in line, House hadn't finished mentally cursing himself yet.. Hands shaking, he pushed his body from the cold ground, hissing as he found another source of severe discomfort – his knees.

As Wilson intervened by grabbing his arm, House wondered if it was possible for someone's kneecaps to become embedded in solid ground. Nothing would surprise him right now. He braced himself against Wilson's shoulder, swaying slightly and missing his cane more than he'd care to admit.

"Are you alright?" Wilson hissed, half dragging the taller man towards his parked car. "House?"

_This is bad,_ House thought as he allowed himself to be led ungraciously across the dimly lit parking lot. _You're numb, but your head is still throbbing – and Wilson's so mad he's forgotten to call you an idiot yet! _He grunted in a delayed reply, relying on the Oncologists impressive interpretation skills to kick in and shut him up. House couldn't trust himself to speak yet for fear of what might drop out of his mouth. A 'thank-you for coming to pick me up' could just slip out – and that was something he couldn't take back! Wilson would file that one away for future use for sure.

They reached the car unnoticed, both breathing heavily from the mixture of fear and adrenaline that coursed their veins. Wilson fumbled for his keys whilst leaning House towards the rear of the car, trying to juggle both tasks in vain. His hands refused to comply in his bid for a quick exit however, and he was forced to look to the sky and take a deep breath just to keep that ounce of composure intact.

In a moment of fleeting absurdity, he imagined that he were on a late night shopping trip and that House was simply a large bag of groceries that needed to be placed gently on the back seat. A very large, very testing bag of groceries, the kind that could break the bottom of the bag at any moment. _You need to get the groceries in the car before disaster strikes, and you get tomato sauce all over the place _his mind calmly told him. The quirky thinking seemed to help, the locks sprung open, Wilson opened the car door and smirked triumphantly, something to which House frowned upon as he let go of his Oncologist-shaped anchor and collapsed on the back seat.

He was having trouble keeping any kind of logical thought together. One thing that really bothered him was that he wasn't in nearly as much pain as he knew he should be. He knew his leg hurt like hell...but it wasn't getting past the haziness in his mind, the almost drunkenness nature of his thought process was telling him that alarm bells _should_ be going off around about now. He couldn't hear the alarm bells as clearly with Wilson revving his car up and making their getaway, maybe they'd fade away soon – along with all memory of this nasty little hospital. He leaned his head back and let the sound of rolling roads and passing cars lull him into a dead-eyed trance, trust Wilson to break the quietude with the first of many annoying questions. Just because he'd 'rescued' him, doesn't mean he deserves answers after all.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" the would-be saviour asked, using the rear view mirror to glimpse briefly at his pale, shocky looking fare.

House didn't even bother to grunt this time, in the hope that Wilson would be easily tricked into believing that he'd fallen asleep. _No chance buddy._

"House? You expect me just to – to pick you up, with no explanation – nothing, not two words?" he stumbled over the words, catching a passing reflection from another car's headlights that accentuated the deep sigh his passenger exaggerated, purposefully, to show his own frustration.

"Hookers and Pimps...that's three words right there..." House growled lazily, keeping his gaze on a mark on the inside of the roof to Wilson's car. How was it even possible to get dirt there? When was the last time Wilson had actually used the car other than to travel to work? Maybe he'd been kidnapping people too – tied them up on the back seat and watched them kick his roof with their dirty feet... Oncology doesn't pay as well as it used to, why not raise a little extra on the weekends?

"House? Are you even listening to me?" a frustrated voice cut through his wandering thoughts. Apparently he'd zoned out completely with his musings of Wilson's extortionate business venture. "I think...I don't know where we are..."

House's ears pricked up at that. "Go back the way you came," he offered unhelpfully whilst pulling himself away from the smudge of dirt to try and focus on the road ahead. _Shit...too blurred._ "Where the hell are we?" he asked angrily, covering the worry that was now plaguing his mind.

"I was hoping you'd know that." Wilson admitted, slowing down drastically to take note of a small roadside sign. It was beyond useless due to the fact that he recognized none of the town names printed on it. _Great, now you're lost too – could this night get any worse?_ "Put your belt back on" he ordered sharply, ignoring the look that House shot back at him. "The last thing I need right now is for you to shoot through the windscreen and end up back in the ER-"

"Yeah, been there, done that – and all I got to show for it is this damned hospital gown!" House croaked back, reaching through to the front to grab Wilson's sweater from the passenger seat. "Don't ask" he warned, wrapping the garment around his right elbow. He knew Wilson would throw a fit if he could see the amount of blood that was now smeared over the rear of his car seats. _He should have gotten black leather in this _House reasoned to himself, _and you should have realised that you were bleeding everywhere..._he stared accusingly at the trail of blood that wound it's way messily from his arm down to Wilson's once immaculate interior.

It didn't particularly hurt much, but it throbbed to a rhythm that seemed to be playing out in his head. His thumping headache, bane of his night so far, seemed to be breaking all the records in terms of pain levels. It was the only constant, the only thing strong enough to remind him that he was still alive.

He couldn't even convince himself that maybe this was all a bad dream. If it were, Wilson would have brought Julie along for the ride, and House could have gotten his ear well and truly chewed off for daring to drag the younger man away from his marital bed. If they still slept in the same bed, House was becoming increasingly aware of the late nights that Wilson seemed to pull on a regular basis at the hospital. At first he'd been convinced that there was another woman involved on Wilson's end (literally!) but now he wasn't too sure. _Maybe they're both at it..._

He shuddered involuntarily, catching Wilson looking at him again in the mirror, turning the heat up in the car for him. _Shit...how long has he been watching me?_ Staring blankly, vacantly at his own arm – that was a new one, even for him. How would he explain that? _'Yeah, I think I'm losing my mind – but don't worry, I'm sure it all stems from one of the many drugs that may or may not still be floating around in my system. Oh yeah, or it could be from the drugs that are now missing from my system due to the sadistic docs in the ER you just busted me out from...' _That ought to do it.

If there was a pattern to his increasingly hazy mindset, it all stemmed from that damned receptor drug of Weber's. Which meant he could only think of one person who would be able to shed some light on what was going on with his head...and he wasn't going to be too pleased to see him so soon after he'd ruined his career...

"House? I said are you warm enough?" Wilson had apparently been asking repeatedly, worrying more as every second dragged by in silence.

House glanced up, weighing up how exactly he was going to lay out his plan to his potentially reluctant chauffeur. The way he saw things, he had two sensible options – he could go with _'Wilson, I need you to drive me to see Evil Von Lieberman, sworn enemy and all round pain in the ass tattle-tail so that he can tell me exactly what his drug's done to my head...'_ or _'Hey Wilson, pull into the next town - we need to score twenty year's worth of LSD and Antidepressants before I go completely insane.' _

He decided he'd better choose carefully before pitching his thoughts to Wilson...

**TBC...**


End file.
